Page 35 of The First Taste

My lips twitch. If Natasha was trying to impress me, it didn’t work. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I turn to Ella.

“Well? Don’t just stand there,” I demand. “Find a seat.”

Collapsing onto one of the long benches, I sling the satchel down beside me. Ella sits down across from me, her eyes wide, her mouth pursed like she’s just tasted something sour. She notices me looking and straightens her posture, tossing her long silky mane of hair.

The defiant look in her eyes causes a solitary shiver to slide down my spine. My cock twitches and I’m suddenly glad I’m sitting down.

For a long moment, something sizzles between us, tension filling the air as our eyes lock. I lick my lips, conscious of the electric memory of her sweet taste.

James shatters the moment by passing between us, severing our connection as he leans down to look me in the eye.

“What are you doing here, Keiran?” he asks quietly. “Hmm? Bringing that American little girl you picked up last night back to the hotel? What is going on in that mind of yours, I wonder…”

Riccardo clears his throat, a tray of drinks balanced on his arm. “Sirs? We are ready to taxi. If you’ll be seated, I have bottles of water and hot towels ready…”

“Sit down,” I order James. “The sooner we have this trip behind us, the better.”

James gives me a cocky grin and sits just on the other side of the journalist’s satchel.

“Riccardo! Make me a proper drink. I want some of that Finnish vodka over ice.”

Riccardo places two bottles of water on the table nearest me and then vanishes back toward the galley. I sit back, my gaze wandering back to Ella. Taking a sip from the bottle, I purposely release a satiated gasp.

But looking at Ella sitting across from me, I know that’s a performance. I’m far from satisfied.

In fact, I’m hungry for something that isn’t on the menu. And now?

I’m almost certainly making my hunger worse by bringing Ella along to the hotel. But I don’t make mistakes, at least not publicly.

So I sit back and close my eyes as the plane starts to taxi out of the hangar.

Twelve

Pursing my lips, I look out the plane’s tiny window and lay my head on the leather seat. When I first arrived at the New York Ballet, I stepped into a lush new world. Kaia was my roommate and she showed my middle class Southerner self a glimpse of luxury. Our first few months were filled with expensive steak dinners, thousands of dollars of clothes put on her dad’s credit card, and a seemingly unlimited supply of new leotards and ballet slippers. To me, it just seemed so fancy.

Bougie, even.

But that experience was nothing compared to today. There is a kind of luxury to being in Keir’s private plane that makes every single other experience in my life seem… I don’t want to say impoverished, but it definitely takes some of the shine off of what I previously thought was so very fancy.

Everything has been provided to me. Expensive water in glass bottles, cashmere blankets, full feather pillows, a pair of pricey earbuds together with an iPad. Slippers, an eye mask, a fancy little tote full of European snacks.

Closing my eyes, I sigh. This is the life. And it’s probably the only time I will fly in a private plane. So I have to enjoy myself. Slippers on, cashmere blankets wrapped around my shoulders, full glass of expensive Norwegian still water.

I’m doing the whole the damn thing.

“Miss?”

I blink as I turn my head. Riccardo is standing there with a wheeled cart, gesturing to several silver-covered dishes.

“Would you like something to eat? I have chicken Milanese, garlic soy salmon, and a summer salad with king prawns. There are also cheese board and crudité options, depending on your hunger level.”

I bite my lip, sliding my gaze toward the back of the plane. Keir and his brother James are sitting across from one another on the leather benches, each picking absentmindedly at a tray of food beside them.

“What did everyone else choose?” I ask.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What’s the matter with you now?” Natasha appears from the front of the plane, her Irish accent making her words halfway indecipherable.

My cheeks heat. “I didn’t realize it was a crime to ask what the most popular dish is.”